


Too Many Romanos

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor, Magic, There's actually a plot?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2059626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sudden onslaught of Romano clones flood through a world meeting and terrorize the other nations.  England is determined to get to the bottom of this.  Spain just wants to find his real Romano.  Everyone else does their best not to panic.</p><p>Pure and simple crack from the kink meme, and an excuse to write lots of Romanos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Many Romanos

  
“Oi, bastard, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”  
  
“Sitting in my chair, obviously.”  
  
“Get out of there, you’re not the real me!”  
  
“Fuck you!”  
  
The two Romanos flew at each other, tugging hair and pawing each other’s suits with a series of high-pitched shrieks.  
  
Another Romano dashed around the room with something bundled in his arms, darting just out of Italy’s grip.  
  
“Ha! Suck my balls, you pathetic little shit!” he shot over his shoulder.  
  
“ _F-Fratello_ , that isn’t nice!” Italy whined, “Give me back my wallet, please!”  
  
“If you wanted it, you’d run faster!”  
  
He leaped over the table and crashed out the window with a lunatic cackle.  
  
Prussia winced as glass splintered everywhere. Ouch, that was going to take a while to clean up, and usually _he_ was the destructive one. He felt a sudden sense of pity for his brother, or whoever usually cleaned up the meeting rooms after they were through with them. “Holy shit, where are they all coming from?”  
  
“The better question is, which one is my _real_ Romanito?” Spain gnawed at his fingernails, eyes swiveling between the multitude of angry, screaming, and running Romanos. He was lost between squealing with delight and bursting into tears. “Somehow… somehow none of them seem _right_!”  
  
Prussia scratched his head. “They don’t seem that different to me.”  
  
“Oh god, I can’t tell! I must have been such a horrible boss! How will I live with myself?”  
  
“It’s not really that bad. I mean, even Italy doesn’t seem to know.”  
  
Italy was occupied with sticking his head out the window while flailing his hands and making alarmed sounds. (“N-No, don’t steal that nice lady’s bike, you’ll get into trouble!”)  
  
Spain broke off into a pitiful howl. “Romano is going to _hate_ me forever!”  
  
“Whoa, there…easy, easy, um…” Prussia looked desperately around for someone more suited to comforting as he patted – smacked – Spain’s back. “It’s gonna be okay.”  
  
Unfortunately, the only one nearby was even more ill-suited to being sympathetic.  
  
“What a fucking loser!” Another Romano smirked, sitting contemptuously with his feet propped on the table. “I hate you anyway. It’s not going to make much of a difference.”  
  
“Romano? Is that you?” Spain glanced up at him hopefully, and after a moment of careful scrutiny, burst into fresh tears. “That…That’s not the real one either! He just doesn’t feel right! Or does he? Oh my god, I’m not even sure!”  
  
The only one still in his seat was Germany, who was only capable of putting his head in his hands and massaging his temples. This meeting was a complete disaster! There were certain things he could manage to put into order. He could handle his brother using his beer for its more flammable properties, Italy bringing a thermo pot to the meetings to cook pasta, or even that mysterious empty chair that kept moving out of place. But this snapshot of disarray was beyond even his attempts at discipline, it came straight from hell. Germany really, really shouldn’t have got out of bed this morning.  
  
His agitation was so strong he didn’t notice the figure shuffling up to him until it spoke.  
  
“H-Hey, you!”  
  
The familiarly grating voice sent a shock down his spine, seeing that said voice was usually accompanied with something being thrown at his face.  
  
There was astonishingly nothing being thrown at his face at that moment, but that could only imply something worse was to come, and Germany really did not want to deal with it right now.  
  
He looked warily to the side, where a Romano stood with his hands clenched disconcertedly behind his back. “What is it?”  
  
“So... I noticed that you look miserable right now, wurst breath,” Romano began, eyes staring anywhere but at him, “A-Actually, you always look like a sad piece of shit. But you look more tortured than ever right now.”  
  
“Yes, well… the entire room is in chaos.” Germany didn’t even know why he found himself responding to this Romano, as he usually made it a practice just to simply walk away from his insults.  
  
“Do you think I’m blind, that I can’t see that? This room is a madhouse. And you know what? You look so p-pathetic and depressing that it’s getting on my nerves! So do us all a favor and stop.” Romano grabbed Germany’s hand. “H-Here!”  
  
A potato, unpeeled and raw, was thrust into his hands. Germany made a choked sound of surprise.  
  
Now with his hands empty, Romano flailed them nervously. “I-It’s not like it really mattered, anyways. Or like I had one on me. I found it – yeah, found it in the trash can, and I figured it would match you, loser. So take it!”  
  
“Er, this is…” Germany cleared his throat, “Thank you, I suppose.”  
  
“You better be thankful! And well… you better eat it today and enjoy it because this will be the last potato you’ll ever eat. Tomorrow I’m going to place a petition to ban all potatoes from Europe. Then you’ll…you’ll be sorry!”  
  
“Good luck?”  
  
Romano bristled, stuttering over his words. “How dare you!  L-Like I’ll need it anyway!”  
  
Germany didn’t miss the skin flushed at the back of his neck as he stormed away. Wow. That was… strange.  
  
Somewhere across the room, France and England had managed to break apart the two Romanos that had been fighting, and had dragged them back by the arms. It proved successful for a few minutes. However, the Romanos soon panicked as they recognized the identity of their captors.  
  
“F-Fuck! England, I’m so sorry, don’t hurt me don’t hurt me! I’ll even say I love your hideous eyebrows if it makes you feel better!”  
  
“Oh god, it’s the fucking wine bastard! Please, God, I wanted to die pure and holy!”  
  
England’s lips pursed into a tense line. “Quiet, you two!” Irritably, he turned to France. “It’s some type of magic – definitely feels familiar, maybe even mine – but I cannot determine its exact source.”  
  
“Have you considered calling your ‘supernatural acquaintances’?”  
  
“It’s definitely not anything of Norway’s or Romania’s.”  
  
“Strange…”  
  
“Either way, this is _really_ getting out of hand!”  
  
“Aw, it’s not so bad!” America sauntered up from the side, laughing boisterously as France struggled to hold his Romano still. “Like, c’mon, meetings are pretty lame anyways, am I right?”  
  
“Could you be bothered to lend a hand?” France said testily.  
  
“Sure dude, oh look, he’s wiggling around and shit.”  
  
“America, don’t just stand there – help France!”  
  
“But look! It’s like he’s trying to pull something from his picket. Haha – oh! Shit! Put that knife down, Roman – er, other Romano!”  
  
“Ha! Not so tough now, huh?” The Romano grinned.  
  
America ducked as the knife was swiped at him. “Oh shit, shit, someone do something!”  
  
England threw the second Romano at America. “Glad you offered to hold them off for us, America. You handle them while France and I work on a solution.”  
  
“Hey – Wait, I never-!”


End file.
